Blessings Above and Below
- jnwashington0905
- Jul 11
- 2 min read
many of you know, Motherism is more than a leadership theory to me. It is a theology, an ideology, and a way of living in the world.
Today I had the privilege of witnessing a Yoruba ritual welcoming a newborn child into the world. It reminded me that, within Yoruba culture and I would suggest many African cultures a newborn is not simply born into a family. The child is received by an entire community and entrusted to the care of creation itself.
One moment in particular will remain with me forever.
The baby's feet were gently placed in Ìyẹ̀rọ̀sùn considered a spiritual dust
and then symbolically guided toward the four corners of the earth before returning to the center. I found myself asking, Why is this so important?
Because it proclaims something profound: every child has a place in the world. Every child belongs. Every child carries sacred purpose. The ritual is not only about blessing the infant; it is about reminding every adult present of their responsibility to protect, nurture, and guide that life. A practice thousands of years old almost lost to children of the Diaspora due to the slave trade. Only glimpses seen in productions such as Roots.
As I watched, I realized that the most powerful part of the ceremony was not only the prayers or the sacred words. It was the family gathered together. Parents, elders, priests, and community members all became witnesses to a covenant. Messages were spoken to the parents about peace within the home, reminding them not to allow conflict to overshadow the gift entrusted to them. The responsibility of raising a child was shared, not individualized.
It struck me that this is something many of our modern rituals often struggle to provide. Hospitals celebrate a birth. Baby showers celebrate anticipation. Christenings bless a child within the faith community. Each has its own beauty. But this ancient ceremony did something more: it situated the child within a sacred web of relationships family, ancestors, community, earth, and Spirit.
In a postmodern world where new parents often return to work within days or weeks, where isolation has become commonplace, these ancient practices remind us that children were never meant to be raised alone. They remind us that parenting has always been a communal vocation.
This ritual has become deeply ingrained in my heart. It reminded me that every child enters life with the whole world at their feet literally and figuratively. What if every Black child had this ritual or something performed that had deep cultural significance regardless of religious affiliation one in which solidifies the child’s worth in the world and protection. Signifying the blessings and protection from heaven (above) and protection and blessings on earth (below), would it keep our children safer?
Perhaps that is what our children need most today: communities that remember who they are before the world tells them who they should become.
There is wisdom embedded in ancient cultures that we have not outgrown. If anything, we may need it now more than ever not to romanticize the past, but to recover practices that teach us how to love, protect, and honor one another across generations.
That, to me, is Motherism in practice.
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